Snippetomania
by Mari83
Summary: Of Logan and bunnies...
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Still don't own Dark Angel.

_**A/N**_: Not really a new story, just following the example of collecting some unconnected snippets that are strewn here in the BBWW-forum and at LJ. This one was a substitute birthday bit for Lisa0316.

Unbetaed, so if you find any mistakes please tell me.

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**Escape and Arrival**

The first time Max crashed through a window, curled up into a ball colliding with Manticore's prison bars, her only thought was to escape and never look back.

In the frozen winter breeze the burning bruises on her back felt like triumph, like freedom and victory and all the other emotions forbidden to them until now. It was everything but the dull aches after a day of drill and exercise or the stinging pain, sharpened by helpless fear, when the doctors poked them with their needles.

The powdery snow underneath her feet tingled like a promise of the things to come, every step taking her away further from the icy floor of their dormitories.

They were free, had broken the limits taken as natural for all their life and now the world outside was waiting for them, glorious and exciting.

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The second time Max crashed through a window, head first like a diver cutting through the black sky, it felt as if she was leaving behind something important.

With calm certainty she knew that it wasn't just the disappointment over abanoning the little figure of Bast, that it had something to do with the guy up there, Eyes Only. It was as if she had found an equal, somebody who could read her with one look, who wouldn't be scared off by her origins. Never before somebody had given her a relieved smile after witnessing her abilities, disregarding the gun pointed at her as he started to flirt with reckless nonchalance.

It was this odd lack of hostility, the way he addressed her as if they'd just met at an art exhibition that after a life of fear and hiding stirred a strange hope in Max.

Against reason and experience she wanted to stay and get tangled in his game of challenging banter and appraising looks… to just ignore the knocked-out bodyguard, his wife and child and to give in to that crazy chemistry between them.

But she could hear the angry shouts of the building security, unlike him eager to arrest her, and so she jumped, falling through the soothing night air to land with catlike security.

With a strange yearning that scared her more than her spectacular escape, Max gazed up at the tall silhouette in the broken window high above her, his expression wide-eyed and fascinated, the cool wind tousling his hair.

As he seemed to fight the vertigo threatening to soak him down, she could see his concerned shock yield to the relief at not seeing her body lying down there, smashed and broken. It was oddly unsettling how he really seemed to care about her being alive, about the thief who had invaded his safety. Hating herself for this short second of hesitation, she wondered what kind of a person he was, whether it was this unbiased empathy that made him risk his life with Eyes Only.

With that feeling of reluctant necessity she remembered from abandoning her siblings, Max jumped over the railing onto the next roof, reminding herself that it were unguarded moments like this that one day would cost her freedom.

Because running away was the only option life had for her.


	2. Jonas Art Attack

_**Disclaimer**_: I don't own Dark Angel.

_**A/N:**_ This is another one of those short bits already posted elsewhere, trying to give a little glimpse into Uncle Jonas mind in Art Attack in between the wedding ceremony and Jonas's conversation with Max and Logan.

Please excuse the mistakes or just tell me and I'll correct them.

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There were many reasons for Jonas Cale to disapprove of his nephew, so many that over the years he had lost count. Junior's taste in women, however, had never been one of them. Even in between the glamour and glitter of the Cale mansion and its exclusive guests the girl in the red dress stood out, her exotic beauty and natural grace earning her jealous looks from the other females.

Yet bringing a girl like her, despite the designer dress clearly not belonging to their social set, along on an official function was something Jonas never would have done. He had bowed to the wish of his father and married a girl from a respectable family, perfectly suitable to represent Cale Industries. He had always kept his numerous little affairs strictly separated from the company and family, never damaging the one or embarrassing the other. Unlike Logan, he understood the laws of business.

Knowing Junior, he just might have tagged the girl along to stick it to him, to create yet another round of juicy gossip about how the Cale's eternal misfit mocked his uncle's authority with his continuing nonconformity.

However, with an attitude of fatalistic disdain, Jonas had observed the short glances Junior gave the girl whenever he felt unobserved, obviously concerned if she was okay in such unfamiliar surroundings. Once Logan had even lost himself in an annoyingly endless daydreaming smile, a telltale sign that he appreciated more than just the perfect body. It confirmed Jonas's suspicion that his nephew had been stupid and sentimental enough to seriously fall in love with the girl, adding yet another foolishness to the long row of embarrassments he had caused.

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_Even at the tender age of seven years, now staying under Jonas's roof after the sudden death of his parents, Logan managed to irk his uncle. It wasn't only his silent grief which in its intensity threatened to suck in everyone around, even worse was Junior's stubbornness and his impeccable sense of justice. He reminded Jonas of his older brother, the one who had always fiercely defended him from the harassing of the neighborhoods bullies. Seeing his still so childlike face brought back these innocent times when the responsibilities and expectations of being the heirs of a successful company hadn't yet weighted them down. It was enough to dislike the boy. _

_History seemed to repeat itself as Logan mirrored his father in his handsome, athletic looks, his modest yet undeniable brightness, his plain success with everything he touched. Junior threatened to outshine his own sons and in doing so awakened the buried remnants of that nagging envy from the times when Jonas had been the second in everything… grades, girls, sport, the second in their father's love and attention. _

_But times had changed. Now Logan senior was dead, all the rows between the brothers unsolved for eternity and his offspring living among them as a perpetual reminder of everything Jonas had always despised and secretly admired about his brother. _

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Despite their alienation and conflicts, Jonas had always respected Logan senior for knowing what it meant to be a Cale. With his characteristic, self-controlled calm his brother had taken over the family business, giving up his naïve ideals and childish dreams for the harsh reality of business life. Just like him Jonas had followed their father's wishes and assigned himself to the role of the second born, despising it but never openly complaining, hoping that his time would come.

Only Logan refused to grow up, living from the family money as he sat up there in his ivory tower, filling his days with idle-going and occasionally writing one of his annoying little articles. Jonas was willing to bet his yacht that it had been the latter activity that had led to that shooting and the wheelchair, Logan being stupid enough to meddle with things that were better left alone.

Outwardly masking his growing irritation with a mien of false politeness, Jonas sauntered over to Logan and the girl, equally determined to subtly show Junior his disapproval, find out a bit more about his companion and have an appraising closer look at how that dress clung to her amazing curves. At least Logan still knew how to pick out the nice girls.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer**_: Don't own Dark Angel.

_**A/N**_: So I wanted to join the celebration of the Logan birthday month on the front page, even though only with something old, and here Logan is decorated with a birthday-bow after all.

Originally written for AURCLO at LJ.

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Everybody was staring at him.

The whole room, filled with loose clusters of men and women in expensive evening attire, had gone quiet, the earlier flow of meaningless chatter yielding to a silence so complete that Logan was afraid to even swallow.

He had no idea what was wrong, but judging from the circle of open-mouthed people surrounding him, he'd efficiently managed to shock Seattle's upper crust.

There was Margo shaking her head in speechless disapproval, sharing a quick, angered glance with his uncle over this latest achievement in embarrassing them in front of their friends and business partners.

There was nosy Mrs. Miller, living next door for decades, bending over to her husband with a hissed whisper signalling Logan that he would be the topic of the neighbourhood gossip for the next weeks.

There was Marianne's admiring amusement, somewhat mirrored by Bennett whose creased brow and tiny smirk displayed the typical concerned adoration towards his nonconformist cousin.

Only Max, stunning in her carmine dress, stuck out of the mass of gaping faces. Seemingly unaware of the discomfort around, her expression showed no sign of dismay, was in contrary relaxed into completely unabashed, dreamy appreciation.

It was her absentminded focus on a spot somewhere around his sternum that made Logan look down. And suddenly he understood: He wasn't wearing a shirt, was completely naked from the waist up except for this ridicolous silk bowtie that suddenly was terribly tight.

Forcing his lips into a tight, apologetic smile, Logan's hand blindly groped behind his back as if his shirt and jacket had just somehow disappeared into the back pocket of his chair. But instead of finding the usual sensation of cool nylon, his knuckles connected with solid wood…

… and suddenly he was safely in his bed, chest exposed from all his tossing and turning, the pale moonlight revealing an empty room blessedly void of prying eyes.

The faintly glowing alarm clock showed 4:16 and so, with a frowned sigh at the absurd products of his over-worked brain, Logan rolled onto his side to get some more sleep. Pulling the sheet up over his head in an overt need to cover every inch of naked skin, he banished the memory of Max's enthralled ogling with the considerably safer thought that maybe he should start wearing a shirt in bed.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer**_: Don't own Dark Angel.

_**A/N:**_ In celebration of Pulse-Day, a little Logan snippet, pre-series…

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When he tells Jonas that he won't join Cale Industries, triumph and satisfaction nearly compromise his uncle's snooty indifference.

Outwardly he's all disdain and disapproval, not even looking at Logan as he gives Margo another of his off-handed "I told you he's not up to it." But there, in the corners of his smug mouth flutters wicked relief, freed from the prospect of sharing leadership again. Finally, after years of raising a bright, promising concurrent in his house, the company is his.

Logan listens to his reproachful sermon with unmoving stoicism. He has a triumph of his own, has been picked by the legendary Nathan Herrero to work for his new project. Only once, when Jonas tells him how disappointed his father would be, he can't quite keep himself from cringing.

His father… His dad had wanted him to take his place but he hadn't been stupid. He'd noticed early on that Logan only read the business news to be rewarded with his smile, wiggling to run back outside. He'd also seen the greed in his brother's eyes, only waiting for an opportunity.

With the same farsighted calculation that had had made Cale Companies so successful, he'd planned the future, taking precautions for every possible scenario … even the one where he wasn't around anymore. His arrangements made sure that his son never would have to worry about money, no matter his decision.

His father would be disappointed with Logan, but not in the way Jonas thinks. If he could see what his brother made of the company, Logan Cale senior would reprimand his son for shying away from making things right again. Logan couldn't care less about Jonas's opinion, but once more his uncle's patronizing little remarks managed to spoil the high of the last days

Now Logan wonders if it isn't his responsibility to keep Jonas from ruining his dad's work even more. Thinking of his new job, he tries to find that thrilling exhilaration again … but he can't. He disappointed his dead father and in the end that still outweighs all of his new mentor's encouragement and appreciation.

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Happy Pulse Day!


	5. Pink Eyes Only

_**Disclaimer**_: See chapter I.

A/N: Just silliness that unfortunately has nothing to do with my Christmas assignments…

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**Small town 150 miles east of Seattle, June 2013**

Logan wasn't sure what was worse: The fat plastic frame, adorned with a generous pattern of fake diamonds, the shrill pink or the fact that these were supposed to be his ad hoc spare glasses.

He should have known when mentioning his dilemma to Tricia, his local contact and the eccentric keeper of the town's diner. But he was stuck. His own glasses were a splintered mess of shards and wire, mangled beyond repair and he'd lost his second pair years ago, in a stampede right after the Pulse.

Logan didn't mean to seem ungrateful. He knew very well that it was impossible to come up with new lenses and a frame out here in this tiny, secluded town where even basics like shoes or tires were rare. It was just…

"Wouldn't have thought you to be the vain type…" Tricia's raspy voice hovered somewhere between pondering amusement and delight at her find. "And you should be thankful that I kept the leftovers of my eighties glam period for all these years."

Logan nodded hastily, trying hard to etch his face into a properly pleased expression. Tricia really had saved him after all, even though he hadn't exactly been too hopeful at her animated search through her drawers and wardrobes. But after some fifteen minutes of noisy rummaging, she'd returned from the attic in triumph, waving with something that Logan recognized too late as pink, oversized monster glasses.

Pink oversized monster glasses that would allow him to drive home on his own.

It wasn't that he was completely blind without them. He just needed them to recognize people and faces, to make out signs and traffic lights and all the other details one needed to navigate the streets safely. Especially the streets now, four years after the Pulse, cracked with potholes and lined by lanterns that had long been slaughtered for their wires and light bulbs …. It probably would give him a heart attack even if he didn't collide with a daring stag or one of the rare travelers still populating the roads.

And so, under Tricia's expectant eyes, Logan resigned to his fate and shoved the glasses onto his nose, feeling as if they swallowed half of his face.

"I'm not going to say that they suit you… hm no, definitely looked better on me back then."

Tricia's critical appraisal forced Logan to look up, finding that it was impossible to avoid his own reflection in her scrubbed and polished kitchen. A kitchen that admittedly was in much sharper focus now, even though there was something irritating about the blurry pink line that framed his vision and moved along with every turn of his head.

"I appreciate the honesty", he quipped back, decidedly glad that Aunt Margo's circle of acquaintances didn't reach this far into the countryside. "And I appreciate your help," he hurried to amend, aware that his goofy appearance wasn't reward enough.

Five minutes later Logan hastened to his car, shoulders hunched as if it would protect him from the locals' inquisitorial gapes. At least, he reasoned, it wasn't his face that people would remember of him now.

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Shy, I dare you to still find him sexy now. (For reference: **http: // tinyurl .com /yz4nt8n**)


	6. Art Attack Logan

_**Disclaimer**_: Don't own Dark Angel

_**A/N:**_ This is the result of **_Shywr1ter_** prompting for whatever fic idea over at LJ.

What if Logan wanted to explain why he acted so offish at Bennett's wedding... just a tiny addition to the last scene of 'Art Attack'.

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"I... I shouldn't have ignored you like that"

His confession catches her on her way out, her thoughts already back in her run-down apartment with its assembly of half-broken things. Curious she turns back to him, the dresses crisp, silky fabric feathery around her ankles.

"I've always been in the spotlight...." Elbows resting on his knees, Logan gazes over to her... and yet he doesn't, his mind elsewhere as his hands play with the locket she'd salvaged for him. "Even as a kid....there were the people fussing over the poor orphan, telling me how happy I was to be taken in by Jonas and Margo.... And then, some years later, when that had been forgotten, the breakup with Daphne, cancelling the wedding when everybody had already planned out our future."

He is silent for a moment, sorting memories.. "I've always hated it...the gossiping and questions when I refused my place at Cale Industries... The false empathy over Val's drinking, the divorce..."

Max doesn't say anything, just tries to imagine the Logan she knows, the guy who is so unshakeable in his beliefs, so self-assured among his computers and equipment among these people, with their ideas and rituals. She tries to imagine and somehow, what she sees is the nervous, fidgeting Logan, who had just simply accepted his uncle's remarks.

"And now, with... the chair..."

He doesn't have to finish. Max had seen the quick looks behind his back, the comments made in passing by before the conversation turned back to Margo's lacking taste in art.

"Daphne though....," He shrugs, self-consciously smirking down at his feet, " She just didn't seem to care, just seemed happy to see me no matter what."

Max can still hear them... _"What a shame, such a good-looking guy..." _Damaged goods, that's what they'd meant.... but still good enough for Daphne with her old dress. And suddenly the irritation irking her all evening tilts into anger, disgust with their satiated boredom, their quick judgement over Logan who spends his nights up with coffee and gritty eyes.

It's in this instant that Logan snaps out of his brooding and looks up, reading in her grim frown that she picked up what people had spared to say to his face.

Max shrugs, apologetic almost, as if it was her fault that she'd witnessed the relicts of that world he'd so reluctantly shared with her. As if she should have stepped in, should have defended him...

Her voice though is flippant, upbeat as she bounces off the doorframe. "I wouldn't give too much for their opinions. They praised Jonas as the smartest business man since the Pulse and... ," she pauses, just for the effect of it," ...that Eyes Only broadcast on employing underaged maids had them scrambling more than they'd ever admit."

Already turning around, she just waits long enough to see him fight his grin from growing into something like triumph. And then, finally, as she strides out, her steps long and confident, there's Logan's reflection in the dark window, upright and strong.

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Apologies for any kind of stupid errors. Found and fixed an extremely stupid on since posting on LJ but there sure are more.


	7. Lydecker's origins

_**Disclaimer**_: Don't own Dark Angel

_**A/N**_: This might change Lydecker canon a bit – though you never know, he might have forged his own file...

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When someone asked colonel Donald Michael Lydecker Junior how he'd ended up in the army, he was usually presented with some gloriously incomprehensible patriotic grumbling. (Not that this happened very often. Everybody who hadn't caught on right away that colonel Lydecker wasn't one for idle smalltalk learned that lesson faster than he'd ever cared to.)

The truth was far less glorious. It involved his 18 year old self, freckled and angry and running away from home in an act of teenage rebellion that felt rather stupid now that his small stash of bills had dwindled. Giving up, however, was not part of Donald Junior's vocabulary. Instead he slept under the proverbial bridges and took odd jobs, sweeping floors and washing dishes all over the country.

Then, one day in icy Lincoln, Nebraska, he'd spent his last money on a bottle of cheap booze. And while it had kept him warm during the night, the morning brought nothing but empty pockets, a vibrating headache and an empty, queasy stomach.

And so he found himself glaring at the homeless shelter's job board, despairing over the lack of options. Or rather the impossibility of the two one and only choices.

The army was recruiting, promising good pay and a bright future. "If you're young, disciplined and ambitious, come talk to us," a tough-looking guy in full combat wear lured.

Donald scowled, remembering how his teachers had bemoaned his lack of discipline, and let his gaze wander to the cheeringly green and red poster right next to the army's offer. A local department store, looking for a Santa to fill in extra evening hours. The ideal candidate, the old-fashionedly slanted letters read, was male, experienced in handling children and displayed infinite patience even with the most outlandish wishes.

Donald Junior didn't think he was ready to trade his father's relentless regime for another form of drill, one that probably was a good deal more dangerous than counting cows on a Minnesota farm. Yet being fingered by an endless row of spoilt brats, whispering their silly wishes into his ear while they tugged at his fake beard didn't seem like a particularly viable option either.

Army... Santa, Santa, Army. Whiny kids versus G. I. Joes yelling orders at him...

_Oh, what the... _Donald ripped off the army poster.

He'd never liked children.


	8. Birthday bunnies

_**Disclaimer**_: Don't own anything.

**A/N**: Obviously this was meant to be Logan birthday fic... but then I got distracted with RL stuff and forgot I'd finished this...

xxx Birthday Bunnies xxx

Logan couldn't claim that he'd never dreamt of waking up to a bunny on his birthday. When he was about three of four he'd wished, with all of a pre-schooler's feverish dedication, for for a white, fluffy angora bunny. What he got instead was a black guinea pig that he baptized Bugs.

Not quite ten years later his teenage boy phantasies were populated by a different type of bunnies, the ones found in those magazines that were not quite so impossible to find for a bunch of eager thirteen year olds. Needless to say that he'd never woken up to one of those neither.

Now both the cute and furry rabbits as well as its less fury, more curvy human counterpart were part of a past of which he hardly ever thought. Nowadays Logan spent his birthday trying not to wish for anything, happy and content when like this year it ended with a nap on the sofa that had been a soothingly dreamless …. until he was stirred by some kind of presence.

Looking around drowsily, Logan tried to make out whatever it was that had awakened him. The penthouse was dark, only illuminated by the diffuse light filtering out of his office. From his vantage point stretched out on the sofa the only unusual thing Logan could see was a, white, fluffy pompon sticking out midair from behind the wall divider.

In sleepy fascination, Logan followed its up and down-movement, frowning in dozy puzzlement as the plushy object disappeared from his sight for a moment... only to show up again together with the silhouette to which it was attached.

A decidedly female, decidedly familiar silhouette, one that he was used to seeing in a tight, black catsuit... now was clad in an equally tight, brightly pink combination of top and hotpants, head adorned with something fluffy-pointed that looked suspiciously like bunny ears.

"Max...?"

The pink figure that indeed, as his squinting eyes confirmed, looked like Max, groaned.

"Sketchy... Don't ask."

His brain still failing him, Logan opened his mouth, tongue vaguely searching for words.

Max raised her hands, warding off his perplexed stare. "Just don't. Don't ask, don't think, forget I was here and if you happen find a file on those dog fights at your desk tomorrow you better pretend it was Santa."

"Funny... would have guessed the Easter bunny." Logan's sleep-hoarse voice surprised himself as much as his visitor.

The pink silhouette stiffened and half turned around, giving him a long, undecipherable look over her shoulder. Still not sure what was the appropriate thing to say, Logan opted for a loop-sided half smirk until bunny-Max made a final turn, heading for the door.

Not even pretending not to stare, Logan considered the few seconds of unobstructed view of Max's pompon-decorated backside his very own secret birthday present, quite oblivious to her indignantly huffed "Men!".

xxx The end xxx

So yeah, there seems to be something going around causing bunny fic in certain brains.


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